


Of Hearth and Home

by BelladonnaWyck, raiast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Arguments, Conflict resolution via oral sex, Drinking, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Malicious abuse of aftershave, Porn with Feelings, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Prompt Fic, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/pseuds/BelladonnaWyck, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiast/pseuds/raiast
Summary: “I’m tired, Hannibal.” Will felt the fight deflate from him, yanked the cap he’d found onto his head and shoved his still damp curls up into it. “Not all of us had a go bag and a seemingly endless number of shell accounts for our eventual most wanted status. Some people feel the need to lay down roots. You did that, once. Don’t you miss it?”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 253
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	Of Hearth and Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedonistconstant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedonistconstant/gifts).



> This is for the lovely and wonderful grantaire, who won our Twitter prompt fill giveaway! Her prompt was "Post-fall fight where Will leaves."

Will Graham stared at the void in the medicine cabinet in his _private_ bathroom. There weren’t any dust rings or rust-colored water stains to denote the absence of the bottle with the ship on it, simply an empty space where the bottle once resided. 

A brief investigation uncovered a new, unopened bottle of aftershave - Hannibal’s brand, in one of the drawers that lined the sink, tar-black like rotten teeth. Everything was so _clean,_ blindingly white and practically untouched, just like the nearly half dozen safe houses before this one. Unlived in. No history recorded in the bones of the house, no imperfections on the walls or stories told in lines chipped into pristine tiles. 

And now, apparently, not even his fucking aftershave was allowed to have a life or space within it that wasn’t claimed and determined by Hannibal Lecter. This house didn’t heave its lungs in the cold evening air, didn’t creak; it was silent as the grave. Will had been quiet too. For far too long. 

Suddenly he was eleven again, feet filthy from another runaway attempt, shoes lost somewhere in the sucking, brackish mud of the bayou as he’d finally admitted defeat and trudged home, or, at least, to the home he’d known for a few weeks but was now being forced out of. Yet another house he’d never even had the chance to get to know, another house with stories written into the foundation that he’d never get to read, that he’d never contribute to. 

They’d moved often when he was young, over twenty towns from high school through graduation. Twenty new houses, trailers - sometimes just ratty motel rooms that had given up all hope of comfort. Twenty new schools, filled with new people that he’d never truly get to know. And they wondered why he had socialization issues. Twenty new ways for him to be reminded that they were poor, that he had no say in where they ended up. _No control._

He brought himself back to the present with the feel of his nails embedded in his palms, the scent of blood faint on the air, but clinging. He was sure Hannibal could smell it like a shark circling in the water. 

Will took the delicate, artisanal bottle from the drawer and smashed fragile, arsenic-green glass against the floor. Teacups and time. He was fucking _done._

The floral spice of cloves and bergamot erupted around him, overwhelmed his senses almost immediately as the scent filled the confined space. Will hissed out a curse and kicked the trash can over for good measure, though it did little good considering Hannibal had emptied it the previous evening. He snarled at the lack of dramatic effect the action had, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he stepped into some of the broken glass he’d scattered across the floor.

“ _Fuck,”_ he murmured, hobbling on one foot to the toilet to sit down and inspect the damage. The bottle hadn’t broken into _too_ many pieces, but a few of the smaller shards had embedded themselves into the sole of his foot all the same. He plucked them out irritably and then made the conscious decision to use one of Hannibal’s precious decorative hand towels - white and pristine and folded with neat, perfect lines - to dab at the welling blood.

He held the towel to the sole of his foot with firm pressure until it seemed the worst of the bleeding had been quelled, his body working quickly to clot the open wounds until he could grow new skin where he’d so carelessly split it apart. He didn’t bother locating the first aid kit - didn’t give a shit about antibacterial ointment or BandAids - simply walked briskly back into his room and yanked on a pair of white, cotton socks.

The trail of crimson pressed into the otherwise immaculate, beige carpet caught Will’s gaze as he stalked back out of the bedroom, and he felt an unexpected and visceral pleasure twist in his gut at the sight. _Good._ He hoped Hannibal wouldn’t notice until it was too late, until the blood had time to sit and stain, so no amount of soap or bleach could pull the discoloration up completely. So Will could finally leave a _mark_ somewhere, however small an imprint it may be.

His foot was still bleeding sluggishly; he could feel the tacky dampness of the fluid pooling in his sock and seeping through the thin, porous material. He ignored the sting of the cuts on his foot and let it fall flat to the floor with every step, aware that he was still tracking splotches of blood as he prowled through the house.

“Will?” Hannibal’s enquiring call sounded from the kitchen. 

Will ignored him, stalking past Hannibal’s haven - ignoring the mouth-watering scents drifting out from it - and into the foyer, where he promptly shoved his still bleeding foot into his boot and began to lace it up brusquely. “I’m going out,” he ground out as he laced up his second boot, sensing Hannibal’s presence drifting closer to him. He turned his attention to the coat closet and yanked his jacket from its hanger, ignoring the two others that slipped from their own at the disturbance.

“Something has upset you,” Hannibal observed in that toneless, clinical way he had that made Will’s skin crawl. Will couldn’t stop his gaze from pulling to Hannibal - when could he ever? - and caught the flare of the man’s nostrils as he inhaled. “You’re bleeding,” he added, something close to _concern_ actually filtering into the words.

This wasn’t the life Will had wanted for himself. It wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d tossed them off the side of a cliff under the light of a blood-soaked moon. He’d imagined a rebirth, had finally allowed himself to imagine his becoming. And it wasn’t _this_ . It wasn’t more of the _same_.

“Where’s my aftershave, Hannibal?” If Will had been calmer, able to think more clearly, he’d probably recognize and feel embarrassed by the way he snapped out the words, his tone shrill and demanding as though he were questioning Hannibal about something far more egregious than a missing bottle of aftershave valued at a grand total of fifteen dollars.

“I threw it out,” Hannibal replied simply. “It didn’t suit you.”

Will grit his teeth as his hands fumbled with the zipper on his jacket, yanking it up too far when he was finally able to clasp the ends together. “You had _no right_ ,” Will hissed as he finally rounded on the man, standing still and stoic at the entrance to the kitchen. “That was mine, Hannibal. _Mine._ One of the few things that I could call my own. And you tossed it away like it was _nothing_ because - because _why_ \- because you _always_ need to hold control over _everything?_ ”

He patted down the pockets of his jacket vigorously, irritated when his initial search didn’t result in the location of his mittens. He turned back to the closet and snatched one of the fallen coats from the floor to begin exploring another set of pockets.

“I would not advise traversing an unfamiliar city in your current emotional state, Will.”

He was using that clinical tone again, detached and mechanical, as though Will was some snarling, snapping animal that could only be placated by low, soothing tones. It was infuriating that Will still felt _so much_ when Hannibal would only allow him to see so little in return. 

He was still warm from his shower, growing uncomfortable bundled up in a jacket that suddenly felt too small, too confining, beginning to sweat in the middle of their foyer and where the _fuck_ were his gloves? The search of the second coat had proven fruitless, save the beanie he’d pulled from one pocket, and he abandoned it to the floor.

“ _Every_ city is unfamiliar, Hannibal. You’ve jerked me from one corner of the world to the next before I can even figure out what fucking _timezone_ we’re in. I understood leaving Canada; we were mended enough and it was too close to home. But we could have stayed in Cuba; they wouldn’t have extradited us. Instead you waited until I started to get settled and then brought me to fucking _Thailand_ where we got - what, _three_ _weeks? -_ before packing it all up for goddamn Prague. Now, now -” Christ, Will _literally_ couldn’t recall the name of where they’d even fled to this time. “Bumfuck Russia.”

“Saransk,” Hannibal supplied unhelpfully. Fucking hell, did he _really_ not see that that wasn’t the point?

“I’m tired, Hannibal.” Will felt the fight deflate from him, yanked the cap he’d found onto his head and shoved his still damp curls up into it. “Not all of us had a go bag and a seemingly endless number of shell accounts for our eventual most wanted status. Some people feel the need to lay down roots. You did that, once. Don’t you miss it?”

Hannibal merely blinked at him. “Baltimore was convenient, until it was not. Then it was simply a city; as they all are.”

Will wasn’t quite sure why the simple, hollow loneliness of that statement made his heart fall in his chest. Fuck the gloves, he’d stick his hands in his pockets while he walked. He strode to the front door and yanked it open and, because he couldn’t stand to let Hannibal have the final word, glanced back and told the doctor, “I don’t want a city, Hannibal. I want a _home_.”

He wasn’t even really sure where he’d dredged such words up from, but knew as soon as he spoke them that they were undoubtedly true.

\---

Baltimore had been _cold._ But even the coldest winter day in Baltimore couldn’t compare to Saransk in February. They’d not been in Russia long, but Hannibal had assured Will that western Russia in the winter would be safe for them, no American tourists willing to embrace a cold that was bone-deep and ached like a bruise. The air was dry and frigid, the sort that pulled a reflexive coughing fit as soon as you stepped outside and attempted to breathe it in. Will kept his mouth tucked into the neck of his jacket in lieu of the protection of his scarf, left somewhere in the front closet as an afterthought. 

The closest local dive was only a five-minute walk away but with the blisteringly cold wind and snow swirling around his head like a snow-globe, Will was freezing by the time he arrived. He stepped into the intimate warmth of the narrow one-room bar, surprisingly busy for a Wednesday afternoon. He squeezed into a seat at the end of the crowded bar top, the leather barstool cracked and worn beneath him. He ordered a vodka straight, because it was the only drink he could request in fucking _Russia_ without a lot of pointing and _conversation._ More human interaction than he cared to take on right now. The bartender didn’t even blink as he poured him a double when Will tapped a finger higher up on the tumbler, the sound hollow, not the crystalline ring of Hannibal’s glasses. 

He tossed it back without preamble, setting the glass down with far more care than he wished to, and then slid it back toward the bartender and made a vague gesture that the stout man correctly interpreted as a request for a refill.

He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to accomplish by storming off after picking a fight over the absence of his aftershave - potentially the _dumbest_ issue that could set him off, considering he’d run off with a cannibalistic serial killer that had fucked Will over in _far_ worse ways through the years - but as he swallowed around the burn of vodka that still lingered in his throat, Will could see himself getting well and truly shitfaced in an attempt to blow off the steam that had been building for far too long. He’d not even really noticed it happening until he’d sprung a leak and unleashed some of his rage.

It was just as well that the object of his frustration appeared as he sat sipping his second double vodka; while he didn’t exactly care to be in the man’s presence - hence his storming out of the house - he could imagine too clearly getting plastered until the pub closed and kicked him out and then wandering the streets of Saransk, too drunk to find his way home, until he eventually froze to death. And Christ, he couldn’t think of a more embarrassing way to go. Hannibal would probably thaw him out and find a way to bring him back just to remind him how ill-advised it was to go wandering around an unfamiliar city in a _compromised emotional state._

“We were poor,” Will began, apropos of nothing, because while he wasn’t about to cause a scene in a pub trying to escape Hannibal or demand that he leave, he also _really_ didn’t want to hear any words come out of his mouth at the moment. “And Beau liked the bottle. A lot. So he was always losing jobs for one reason or ‘nother. Always looking for work. Always dragging me along from city to city because, really, what choice did I have?” 

Will took another sip of his vodka, tried and failed not to roll his eyes when Hannibal ordered something for himself in what sounded like flawless Russian. But beyond that, he didn’t attempt to insert himself into Will’s monologue, so after Hannibal had been served and the bartender had wandered away, he continued. 

“My whole life I’ve had one person or another leading me around by the nose. My dad. Jack. Tried to pretend it wasn’t the case with Molly, but not long after she started waxing poetic about Maine we sold the Wolf Trap house.” He tilted his head, finally, to sneak a glimpse of the man beside him. Still seemingly stoic, though Will could see that his gaze had softened significantly as it roamed over Will’s features. “Getting you out and, and everything that came with it - the fight, the dive, _leaving_ with you - it felt like I had agency for the first time in my life. I liked that feeling. I would have liked to hold onto it longer. But then you became just one more person to make my decisions for me, tell me what was best. Where to go. How to act. What fucking _aftershave_ to wear.”

He tipped back the last gulp of the clear liquid - _fuck_ he missed whiskey - and then twisted the empty glass in his hands, staring at the last lingering drop as it swirled around the edge of the bottom. “I’m not a mirror for your narcissism, not just here to reflect your favorite parts of yourself. And I’m not just one more possession for you to stuff in a go bag every time you get bored of your surroundings.”

Hannibal was quiet for so long that Will thought he must have finally angered the other man enough to end _this_...whatever this even was. Hannibal took a sip of his drink, contemplative and still so quiet that Will’s ears rang. 

“I don’t consider you a mirror, nor do I consider you a possession, Will. You are my equal in all things, the only human I’ve ever known who could be.” He paused, running his fingers through his hair where it had grown long - an altogether _human_ action that caused something to ignite in Will’s chest, made his lungs ache with a held back scream. 

“I believe I’ve fallen prey to the worst of my natural inclination to plan for all potentialities. I am a covetous man and perhaps overly protective of what we’ve built together. Paranoid. I worried if we stayed static for too long it would mean certain discovery and separation. You’ve said it before, Will: we wouldn’t survive separation. I would die, would kill us both, before I let you go again.” The words were possessive, but not in a way that implied ownership, settling something in Will even though a sane person would have ran in the opposite direction of a creature as dangerous and obsessive as Hannibal Lecter. 

It only made Will want him more. Only sent his heart thudding erratically in his chest.

“So you don’t want a perfect copy of yourself as some sort of twisted acolyte to your proclivities? You were truly just _worried?”_ Will almost couldn’t believe it. The Chesapeake Ripper, the man who had haunted his dreams for so long, years even before they’d properly met, was _concerned_. 

“I can assure you, dear Will, that I do not, nor have I ever, desired a protege. I’ve only ever wanted _you,_ just as you are. Witnessing your becoming has been one of the greatest honors of my life. I would never wish to taint that.” 

A moment of silence stretched between them wherein Will considered ordering another drink. “Okay,” he said lamely with a brief nod of his head. “Okay,” he said again as he abandoned his glass to the bar. “Can you just...drop it with the aftershave?”

“Would you give the one I selected for you a chance?” Hannibal shot back.

Heat flooded his cheeks as he recalled his childish reaction to the haughty bottle’s existence. “I, uh. I dropped it.”

He couldn’t help but mirror the slight smile that quirked Hannibal’s lips at that declaration. “Yes, I rather thought you might. Fortunately I had the foresight to procure a second bottle.” Hannibal reached forward to brush Will’s hair from his forehead, his curls having unfortunately dried plastered against his head due to the cap he’d pulled on before he ventured outside. His fingers lingered against Will’s temple and then stroked fondly through his hair. “As rare an occurrence as it is,” Hannibal murmured, tilting his face closer to Will’s, “You _are_ at times wholly predictable.”

Will huffed out a laugh at that and then, upon realizing how very close Hannibal’s mouth had drawn to his own, felt his face flush further as he bit down on the instinctive urge to close the remaining distance. He cleared his throat and pulled back, twitching his shoulders in a shrug. 

“What can I say?” He began and then, to his utter horror at the realization that he really _didn’t_ know what to say to that, jerked his head towards the bathroom in the back corner of the room. “I’ll be right back and then we can go home.” 

He was relieved to find the room unoccupied and spent a solid, frantic minute staring at himself in the mirror. He needed to get a grip on himself. Because while part of him wanted to celebrate the fact they had made it through their first argument with minimal bloodshed and not a single stabbing, his traitorous body was actually _yearning_ to return to Hannibal Lecter; to linger in the warmth of sitting closely together, to tip his head forward and capture his lips in a kiss.

Warmth pulsed through him, made him feel lax and languid, and Will had no idea if the sensation was due to the alcohol currently poisoning his bloodstream or something else altogether. He was _sweating,_ he realized then, and _horribly_ aroused at the thought of physical closeness with Hannibal. And the minutes were stretching on and Hannibal was waiting for him, and he _still_ hadn’t managed to pull himself together.

Will splashed his face with lukewarm water from the dingy sink and barely had time to blot the dripping water off with a paper towel before he heard the squeak of the hinges as the door was opened and closed again. He didn’t need to look up to know it was Hannibal, could sense his presence with an animal instinct. 

“Why’d you follow me, Hannibal?” The feeling from earlier returned, hitting him full force with arousal and anticipation in equal measures. He had eyes. He knew Hannibal was an attractive man; knew, even, that he was most likely _attracted_ to him. But they’d never done _this_ before. Not since the brief kiss they’d shared on the beach after he’d forced air back into Hannibal’s water-soaked lungs, lips lingering longer than was strictly necessary and tongues darting out for a taste so furtive and tentative that it was easy for them both to pretend it had never happened at all. Neither of them had mentioned the kiss, but suddenly Will found himself considering the option for _more._

Hannibal cornered him into the open stall, the door hanging off the hinges and unable to be locked from inside. Will’s back hit the flimsy wall and he watched Hannibal hesitate, an array of emotions crawling across his features. 

“I believe that you might find comfort in exerting some control of your own,” Hannibal suggested, “Since you have felt so powerless these last several months.”

Will could only stare at Hannibal, his face blazing hot as a blush bloomed at the implication, even as naivety seized control of his tongue and he found himself stuttering out a lame, “W-wha?”

“You can use me however you want, Will.” Hannibal clarified; his eyes were sincere and Will knew he meant it. His monster was offering his body up as penance for his sins against Will, but if Will took his pound of flesh for all the grievances he had with the man there would be nothing left of him. He could use Hannibal, could fuck his throat until he was a filthy, gagging mess. He could force him open and fuck him bent over the closed toilet lid, fast and hard and probably painful for them both with no lube or preamble. Or...

The stall was cramped, forced intimacy that Will couldn’t say he minded so much at the moment, Hannibal gracefully falling to his knees on the dirty floor, his hands resting against Will’s thighs, waiting for Will to give a signal for him to continue. He looked for all the world as though they’d done this a million times before, rather than being totally new to this level of intimacy. They knew each other, body and mind, but never like _this._

Will didn’t give him a signal. Instead, he threaded his fingers into soft, ashen locks and gently guided Hannibal’s gaze to his own, slipping his hand down chiseled cheekbones and letting his thumb come to rest against thin, pale pink lips. He could envision those same lips, kiss-swollen and bruised the same color as the insides of plums, warm to the touch. Perhaps another time. 

Tonight, Will surprised himself as well as Hannibal, shaking his head finally in reply and cupping his palm to Hannibal’s chin, using the thumb resting on his soft mouth to draw his lips apart. He used his free hand to leisurely unbutton his jeans and slide down the zipper, pulling his cock out over the waistband of his boxers - amazed already at how he’d grown so hard so _quickly_ \- and smearing the wet tip against willing flesh. 

Hannibal’s eyes were fluttering closed but Will pulled back, waiting for Hannibal to focus on him again. “Look at me,” Will instructed, waiting for an acknowledgment. He received a nod of agreement, Hannibal’s eyes darker than blood in the moonlight as he peered up at Will through baby fine lashes, soft and thin as spider legs. Will found himself thinking, not for the first time, that Hannibal was beautiful. But, then, he supposed the devil _did_ always come in pretty packages. 

He parted Hannibal’s lips just slightly more, slipping the head of his dripping cock into the inviting warmth of his mouth, smearing pre-come over Hannibal’s soft, wet tongue. Hannibal’s features didn’t change, didn’t show his surprise in any physical way, but Will knew that he hadn’t expected their first time, especially given the circumstances preceding it, to be like this. Soft, gentle, almost polite. 

“Fuck,” he allowed himself to grunt, he wouldn’t hide his pleasure from Hannibal, would reward his open honesty with some of his own. He traced the seal of Hannibal’s lips around his shaft with his thumb, pleased when it pulled away damp with spit. Hannibal moved his mouth down Will’s cock of his own accord, then, taking him deep enough that Will could feel the fluttering of his throat around him, Hannibal’s nose nearly touching Will’s lower abdomen. 

“You’re so lovely like this, Hannibal. Such a willing supplicant. If I’d known it could be this easy, I’d have asked this of you a while ago.” Will smiled, his words teasing but kind, his smile sweet and natural. He couldn’t ignore the _thump thump thump_ of his heart where it beat a cadence in his chest, knew that this was the sort of love that would consume him. But he wanted it, _god_ he wanted it. 

Hannibal didn’t answer him, except to purse his lips and curl his tongue and _suck_ as he pulled back. Will groaned - couldn’t help himself - his head tipping back and his hands seizing tightly in Hannibal’s soft locks. He was careful not to direct Hannibal’s actions, though; not to control him in any way. He realized all at once that he didn’t _want_ the sort of control Hannibal had offered him; he simply craved the intimacy, the familiarity. He wanted this connection, this last bit of themselves that they’d been holding back for all these years.

Conjoined. Inseparable. _Complete._

Hannibal’s mouth was warm and wet, working over Will’s cock with expert control and precision. He didn’t seem eager to hurry things along, perfectly content to be kneeling on the filthy floor of a public bathroom where anyone could stumble upon them. The risk that posed only further thrilled Will, made his stomach clench with burning desire and his thighs tremble as Hannibal worked him closer and closer to orgasm.

Will found himself desperately protective of this new, fragile thing they’d discovered here. He knew, without even needing to consider it, that he would _kill_ anyone that dared to intrude upon this moment of theirs; private, and stolen, and so long awaited that Will realized with a flash of insight and a low groan that the two of them had been moving toward this conclusion from the very beginning. 

And it truly _was_ beautiful.

A simple beauty in the discordance of it all, of what it had finally led to. This. Them. _Together._ A level of intimacy neither had ever known. Even in his marital bed, Will had never felt this bone-deep ache, this _need._

Will’s orgasm barrelled through him with enough speed that he didn’t have time to even form the _notion_ of warning Hannibal - not that the latter seemed to mind terribly; he buried his face against Will’s groin and drank him down with an eager moan. _Consuming him._

When he pulled away, lips red, wet, and shining, Will couldn’t hope to quell his desire any longer. He dropped to his knees to match Hannibal’s height and then yanked the man forward until their lips were crushed together.

Even on the heels of his release, Will couldn’t deny the all-consuming arousal that flared through him as their tongues tangled together, as he licked the taste of himself from Hannibal’s mouth. He was struck with the sudden impulse to tell the man he loved him, to say it a hundred times in a hundred different ways just to make up for all the times he should have said it before.

He scrambled between them to release Hannibal’s zipper and button from his dress slacks, desperate to remove one of the final layers of cloth that separated him from the clear bulge Hannibal had developed. 

Just as he was slipping Hannibal’s cock free of its confines, delicate, fine-boned fingers wrapped around his wrist and stalled his progress. He let out a frustrated huff against Hannibal’s downturned lips and pulled away enough to see eyes as dark as whiskey. 

“Will, this was about _you_ , about your pleasure.” Martyrdom wasn’t a good look on Hannibal, far more ill-fitting than any part of his humanity threaded person suit ever had been. Will scoffed, leaning forward again to breathe against Hannibal’s mouth. 

_“This_ pleases me. I want to see you come; want to watch you shudder apart under my hands. I promised you my reckoning would one day come from my hands, after all.” Will gave a sly smirk before he connected their lips again, snuffing out any additional arguments his fussy cannibal could possibly toss out. 

It was quick, once he pulled Hannibal from his pants, the other man's cock already painfully hard and exceedingly wet at the tip as Will pulled his foreskin down his shaft and dug his fingertip into the slit by feel alone. It had been a while since he’d touched a cock that wasn’t his own, but it seemed he hadn’t lost all his skills, if Hannibal’s stuttered moans and panting breaths against Will’s mouth were any indication. 

Will bit into Hannibal’s plush bottom lip and that, along with a few final firm strokes of his cock, had the man coming across Will’s fist, smearing his release between their bodies. 

They parted for a gasping breath, trembling in each other’s embrace with the overwhelming gravity of what had just transpired between them, foreheads resting together. Will’s lips were moving before his brain had firmly decided on what was to come out of them.

“Belfast,” Will sighed on a panted breath.

 _"Belfast,”_ Hannibal repeated, his own voice tremulous with a strange assortment of desire, fondness, amusement and confusion.

“Take me to Ireland. I need some goddamn whiskey.”

“Wherever you want, Will. You needn’t always be the one to follow; I’ll go where you go.”

 _Of course he would,_ Will couldn’t help but think as his eyes roved over Hannibal’s face, open and earnest, gazing back at Will as though he hung the fucking moon. Warmth swelled in his chest and spilled through the rest of his body as the realization struck him: Hannibal would go where Will would go, because _he_ was Hannibal’s home, just as much as Hannibal was his.

For the first time in his life, Will realized that maybe home wasn’t a fire in the hearth or stories scratched into the mortar. 

Home was a feeling. Connection. And his home was Hannibal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoy our collaborative works you should follow us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BellaRaiWrites) and [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bellaraiwrites) for all sorts of extra content and teasers!
> 
> We also have a [Discord server](https://discord.gg/jhdDeAn) where you can chat with us, throw us prompts, and post images/art inspired by our work! You may also catch a snippet or two of some WIPs!
> 
> 'Til next time! 💚💜 BellaRai


End file.
